


Catching Death

by spyfodder



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Control, F/M, a strange relationship, gentle Widow, upset Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyfodder/pseuds/spyfodder
Summary: There were very few who were able to hold fire in their hands willingly.





	Catching Death

An abandoned hotel was not exactly Widowmaker’s idea of “secure,” but it kept most of the Russian cold out and was inconspicuous enough to keep her and her companions housed until extraction. 

Extraction that couldn’t come fast enough, she thought with a decline of mood. She was doing her best not to think too hard about the miss at Volskaya while still reviewing it, going over every step and action… golden eyes closed as she shut down the process. She needed to regroup and see what the hell was going on, and what Sombra’s status update was.

Speak of the Devil…

“Can you please do something about Mister Doom and Gloom? He’s in the main hall doing that tornado shit again,” said woman had hooked around the corner of the hallway Widow had been striding through, carrying a bag of chips. “He wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Hm. Alright,” Widow nodded, lifting a brow. It was not the first time Reaper had been wound up into a tizzy, and Widow was the only one able, or who wasn’t scared, to deal with the fury of death. 

“Just make sure he’s ready to go. They said we’d be out of here by morning, but who the hell knows anymore,” Sombra shrugged and rolled her eyes, just as dissatisfied with Talon’s treatments. Precise and willing to put their agents where they needed to be when the time was right, but afterwards, especially after a failure, they were often ignored like disobedient dogs. Bug-out bags had become less of an option and more a necessity. 

“Alright. I will take care of Reaper. Try to get some rest, we may have to relocate if they decide not to retrieve us,” Widow said with another nod, and Sombra sighed with a dismissive whimper, going on her way and continuing to crunch on her snacks. 

Widow was, at least, glad that the hotel had minimal technology wired through the building, she thought, having checked out and scanned the place when they had arrived. The next few minutes would be something she would never desire the shifty little hacker to have in her databases, something that had been hers and Reaper’s since they had come to the strange little exchange they participated in occasionally. 

Zipping up her hoodie a bit more, Widow nonchalantly pushed her way through the door that led into the main hall of the hotel - the place where fancy dinners and ceremonies and maybe even conventions had been held. Now it was full of must and chilly air… and the swirling, angry sight of a wraith that had no control. 

The first time Widow had seen it, she had balked. She was unafraid of many, many things, but the sight of that black, smokey mass that looked like ash and silver glitter swirled in water in a jar had sunk something terrible in her belly. Now, it was familiar. Now, she knew how to help.  
“Gabriel,” Widow tried softly, walking slowly, further into the room. There was a near-imperceptible change in the storm, a bare tightening and acceleration of the black swirl that Widow walked into willingly, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket. 

“Gabriel, come, you know if you keep doing this, you will be hurting,” Widow soothed softly. She knew he could hear her, and knew her words to be true. The last time he had a fit for too long, he had been out for a week and a half, barely able to move outside of feeding himself. The look on the Talon rookies’ faces when victims for life essence had been brought in had been priceless.

“Gabriel, _mon ange,_ ” she tried once more, the patience of a sniper paying off well. She closed her eyes and stood, waiting for him to finish his hissy fit, and felt the swish of air and ash and anger around her… and it’s gentle relaxation. 

It started with a grip forming around the upper half of her arm. Widow glanced down to find the beginnings of a hand forming, claws and all, and it worked from the wrist onward. The sudden apparition of the tall, black draped figure with the stark mask was always titillating, Reaper an absolutely majestic creature to behold. Widow’s heart thudded hard in her chest, and she gave a small smile of congratulations and pride that he had won over his anger again. 

Partial win, she knew, watching the smoky trails around Reaper settle and dissipate, his chest still heaving with the deep breaths that labored through his throat, the quietest wheeze and drag of sound echoing from it’s depths. 

“Good, good, my darling,” Widow was still smiling, a sad little thing, and she waited a moment more, feeling the clench-unclench of the talons around her arm. She knew he would not hurt her, learned that early on, and had no fear in lifting a hand to reach past the edge of his hood, stroking the beak of his mask. It melted away at her touch, revealing the scarred and tense face beneath, Gabriel’s eyes closed and lips parted with his ragged breaths.

“There he is,” she whispered, moving closer, “there is my king.” Tenderly, she stroked his cheek, thumb running under an eye, and downward to where she pet the ragged edge of his beard, streaked with grey. The man’s shoulders relaxed by a fraction, and she continued to pet the bristles on his chin, thumbing over full lips. His breath had slowed, at last, and his head turned into the cup of her palm, ruddy eyes finally opening to look at her blearily. 

“Come,” she whispered, and gripped his chin lightly, pulling, and he went, leaning down to meet her lips in a kiss. It was then both his hands came to be on her, palming her arms before sliding up her back, drawing her closer. His chest rose in a deep, sighing breath, fanning warm over Widow’s cheek as he exhaled through his nose.

“Take me to bed?” She offered, nuzzling against his lips, and Gabriel nodded silently. Snaking her arms around his neck, he swept her up, still chest to chest, one arm around her back, the other beneath her knees, halfway wrapped around his waist. He walked, thankfully, boots rolling across threadbare carpet, as he made their escape. 

They had not shared, the night before, but Gabriel knew she had taken one of the plain rooms on the first floor. Her bare belongings were still there along with her rifle, laid out on a desk that had been left behind. The bed had been relinquished to time as well, flipped over to the considerably less dusty side and slept on. Sombra had managed to find blankets, her normal physiology needing warmth, unlike her two weird teammates.

Giving an exaggerated moan of delight as she was placed onto the mattress, Widow did not have to falsify the pleasure that warmed her body as Gabriel came to lean over her on hands and knees, nuzzling once more for another kiss, one that deepened into something less than chaste. She pushed away his hood to wind her arms around him and pull him closer, the edges of his armor pressing into her frame. 

“Come,” she urged, pushing him away just long enough for her to shuck off her jacket and shrug out of her suit and armor. Gabriel did the same, the overly complicated looking mess of his garments clanking to the floor, baring dusky flesh that was hot to the touch. He did come again, kneeling onto the bed with Widow, getting caught up in another kiss that this time was a barely contained blaze, the woman’s tongue licking into his mouth, fingers caught up in each other’s hair and scraping over skin.

It felt as if he could scorch her skin, the way his heat permeated where her breasts pressed against his, where his hands left broad swathes of tingling warmth where they swept up her sides and back. Widow gasped, tilting her head to the side as beard and lips grazed the side of her throat, teeth a whisper against her skin. 

Out of all of their forms of play, this was one Widow enjoyed. Gabriel just frenzied enough to veil murderous strength behind restrained gentleness, but just obedient enough to allow her to be in control. Down on his back he went, Widow straddling his waist, taking her turn to press kisses down his neck and chest. She dragged manicured nails down his torso, getting a growly sigh in response, and lift of hips that picked her a few inches upward.

“So beautiful, my king, aren’t you?” Another wheezing sound of appeasement, and Widow settled her palm just below Gabriel’s navel. 

“Such a good boy to give your queen a throne.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am feeling a second part for this with more extent of the relationship.


End file.
